Just A Game
by Procrastinations
Summary: "You're all just pieces in their game." Rated T for language and hints of sexual situations.


**Disclaimer: I don't owe James, Lily, Sirius, the Potterverse, Birdy or the Cinematic Orchestra. I have a laptop and a pretty ring.**

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_By the cracks of the skin I climbed to the top  
__I climbed the tree to see the world  
When the gusts came around to blow me down  
I held on as tightly as you held onto me  
I held on as tightly as you held onto me.  
~ To Build A Home, The Cinematic Orchestra_

Despite the stories that were told after your death, you were never beautiful. You're too fiery to be gorgeous, too outspoken to be mysterious, too unevenly proportioned to be stunning. You're too much of a tomboy to be a lady, too feminine to be a lad's girl. Still, there's something in his eyes when he looks at you that makes you think that maybe you're a little more than ordinary. You ask him about it, once – why on earth he's attracted to _you_, of all people – and the ferocity in his voice when he answers almost scares you.

"Because you are fucking _perfect_, Lily. Please, don't do this to me."

So you don't. Sometimes you'll catch him staring at you as if he's puzzling something out, like how on earth the Chudley Cannons have managed to claw their way up to second on the league table. Nevertheless, the way he's placed you on a pedestal scared you. He's in love with the idea of Lily – ferocious, sharp-tongued Lily – not the real finished product. He doesn't love the insomniac, who forgets to eat when she studies, who's hormonal and lazy and doesn't like to talk to people if she can help it. You know he loves the princess Lily, not the girl who's capable of fending for herself. So when he finds you pinned up against a wall, trying to stop the tears of anger and pain and humiliation from streaming down your face as Mulciber gropes the front of your shirt, his reaction is highly predictable.

The duel between the two boys is short-lived and vicious. It ends with James standing over the motionless body of Mulciber, looking disgusted, and you cowering in a corner. He motions to a group of fifth-years you know he's vaguely friends with, and instructs them to levitate the Slytherin to the Hospital Wing. They comply, and soon he's towering over you, offering you his hand and looking somewhere between world-weary and enraged. All you can think of is how likely it is that in a few months, you will be against Mulciber - and Snape, a cruel voice whispers in your mind - in a duel to the death; you for Dumbledore and his Order, and Mulciber for the monster that doesn't deserve to be called human. It strikes you that you're all just pieces in their game.

"Why didn't you call for my help sooner?" He hisses. He's visibly trying to contain his anger, but your own irritation overtakes any fear left over from the fight.

"Because I don't need you to leap in and defend my honour! I'm a big girl! I don't need saving!"

He's furious, you can tell. His eyes glint dangerously from behind his glasses. "So you can deal with him coming up and hitting you, torturing you, _raping_ you?"

"He _didn't rape me_, Potter!" You barely notice Sirius arrive, but James does. He spins on his heel and stalks away, gesticulating to Sirius in a body language you don't understand. Sirius takes a long look at his best friend then turns to you, eyes blazing.

"Who was it?" Never have you seen Sirius so angry. You've seen him upset, desolate, irritated and frustrated, but this Sirius scares you.

"Mulciber." He makes a move as if to leave and you grab his arm, stilling him. "Seriously, it's okay. He didn't… he didn't, you know, _touch_ me." You try to placate him, remove some of the tension in his body, take away the fury from the set of his mouth.

"But he may as well have," Sirius bites out, his fist clenching. If it wasn't so frightening, his concern would be touching.

"It's okay." You reach out and grasp his fist, lacing your delicate fingers with his. Your own hand is dwarfed by his huge paw, but he visibly relaxes, shuddering out a breath he probably didn't realise he was holding.

"Promise you won't go looking for revenge?" Your tone is pleading, your eyes wide. The effect is instantaneous; he drops your hand and sighs.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because –" you pause, unsure as to whether you're supposed to know and how sore a topic it is. "Because you can't afford to fuck up again."

The words have hit a nerve: evidently, the night of the Whomping Willow hasn't been forgotten, despite the fact that it was almost two years ago. He glares at you, a question forming on his lips. "How did you–?"

"At that point I was still friends with Snape." You grimace and avert your gaze, staring down the corridor. "Let's just go, okay? I don't know about you, but I don't want to face my ghosts tonight."

He's silent for a moment, and you watch the embers from the candle in a sconce on the wall flicker in his unfathomable eyes. "Why won't you let him save you?"

There is no need for you to ask who the boy in question is. Green eyes meet grey. "Because some people don't want to be saved."

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**A/N: Reviews are love and Patronuses. **


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